KILLER 3
by MA-YU-REI
Summary: Nicholas and his friends are normal people living normal lives until the begin to reminisce about the times when they were younger. Now on the verge of adulthood, they try to discover what they should do with their lives. They soon find out.
1. Disc

Noooo I don't on Killer 7, if I did well I'd be one lucky guy! :O  
But yeah, in any case, this is the Story, KILLER 3, by me after I just randomly thought about doing something since I just 3 Killer 7. XD  
But yus, I don't know if I'll continue it, so like most stories on here, don't be surprised if this just dropped and died like a fly, it probably will, but if I ever get around, I'd like to finish. The idea is in my head still so no worries... as of yet. ;3

In any case, I try my best and to be honest I think I did pretty damn good. :o  
Short but sweet, will probably increase GREATLY over time, so keep checking in!  
(especially for this uploading part... I hope I'm getting it right)

In any case, ENJOY and write some good reviews! ;DD


	2. C O N F U S I O N

_KILLER 3_

The moonlight shined strong as it could, it's rays shining through the broken and unbroken glass roofing. Footsteps in the distance matching that of intimidating boot-clicks could be heard, crunching over fragile valuables, echoing through the hallways, the shadow against the wall, sliding across, getting ever closer to it's target, a mass of lively flesh and bone pressed up against a wall, staring at it's soon-to-be killer straight in the face, the light which was on only revealing features which were commonly unused for identification; but that fellow became bold, and a little too bold.  
"Don't come any closer!" he hissed, drawing his gun, a shivering grip pointing to it's adversary's chest.

One shot.  
Two shot.  
Both a miss.  
"Ya' know," the voice was cocky and sharp, coming out with the cheap line most would only dream of saying, and those with experience would say perfectly, but something just didn't seem right, "shivering like that won't get you _anywhere_."  
He lifted his gun.  
The other man suffered a momentary shock before trying to aim once more.

_Click_

A failed attempt quickly turned to rage, he threw the gun to his adversary's feet and curled up in a ball, holding his head in complete fright as if it were to fall off at any given moment.  
"_Failure, _is unacceptable," the other man raised his gun, aiming it nonchalantly at the other fetal-positioned man's shoulder.

Away the bullet went.

TARGET: 00

Part 1 Introduction

- C O N F U S I O N -

Sizzling bacon fat crackled and spit in the pan it was delicately placed on, the kitchen itself being only a few shades lighter than the dark blackness of the pan. An empty, morbid feeling filled whatever could be seen of the house in it's entirety, and a picture of a father and sun sat on a dresser in another room, shedding only a little bit of happiness in what this world had to offer now-a-days.

_"Son,"_ he would say, his accent coarse, un-American in all aspects, _"this country has gone to dogs!"_

_"Son," _he would still say, his accent even more coarse than before, still un-American, _"can you promise me that you will live after I?"_

_"Son," _he would say, one last time, his accent now hoarse, coarse, and everything in between, _"I have no reason to be sorry for you and this world I 'left' you, but hear me this, I do not want you to live in vain. Life is precious. Live it, and live it good."_

Any time this... "boy" and not so much a man would look at this picture, he would cry, he would see himself. He would see what he cared for, he would have reason to push forward and live and do what he must to survive in this indefinitely cruel and cold world.

This "boy" was Nicholas, his last name he'd rather not disclose, a young man, only about 19 and in his last year in High School, not because of being behind, or stupid, but because of his big move as a young child from Poland to America. He was and probably still is a normally cheery young man, but as of late has been feeling a little emotionally ill in an odd way that isn't normal to him.

Life's a game.  
And he's not enjoying it.

The bacon was almost done.

His cellphone vibrated on his thigh, waking up up from deep thought.

"Hallo?" he chimed, that very word making him remember the sole fact that he had no one else to speak Polish to, or well, at least no one on hand.  
"Hey," the voice replied, a little static.

Julia, last name also not for disclosure, a caring girl, very caring and fun, but serious when the time would calls for it. She was born in France and came to America at a young age, almost like Nicholas, but received the proper schooling while Nicholas did not, making her only one year younger, 18.

"How'd it go last night?" she said, her voice was that of a singer's and nothing more. High, but powerful in the most gentlest of senses.

"Haha, oh, absolutely _wonderful_," Nick (a preferred and obvious nickname), lied, a sarcastic lie.

"Really?" a shred of hope lingered in her tone.  
"Why no. I lied, you should have been there," he was shameless to say, and continue, "it was absolutely ridiculous."

"Oh," suddenly it seemed disappointment rushed over her.

Silence followed, a dark, empty silence. It choked the air, but as Nick turned off the stove, the bacon's sizzle slowly began to become no more, and soon nothing, as it popped one last time.

"Jocelyn, uhhmm," she said, sounding a little hesitant.

"No need to bother her, she doesn't need anymore stress Julia," Nick said, biting his tongue, catching himself sound a little harsh.

"Haha oook well EXCUSE me for calling then!" she joked, and he knew.

"Hmhm, sorry Julia."

Jocelyn was a good girl too, very loyal, very helpful, very practical as well, making her the second best out of the three when it came to emotions. The only cold hard fact she had to realize was that she was a girl. And she was a teenager as well. Hormones and gender were a lethal combination which made her, if she didn't try, break down at the sign of hard times. But by hard, it would mean very hard.

He had nothing more he could say.  
He hung up quickly, not wanting to seem attached, a trait he hated with great intensity. But how could he match the power and assassin prowess of the Smiths with such a trait that would get him killed after one fault? Everything he did or thought, or said, it was all seem as stupid, idiotic to the Smiths, but then again... where were they? How long has it been since they were last seen?  
It was all so long ago.

They just got up and vanished.

But here they were, the three of them, the ones who wanted to do something good, something they desired, something they at least thought was right and wouldn't take any other direction but their own.

They were fakes.  
They were phonies.

They were wannabes.

They were, are, and forever shall be, the KILLER 3.


End file.
